


The Assassin and His Brother

by Atheleia



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Angst, Family, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-02-20
Updated: 2014-03-24
Packaged: 2018-01-13 03:34:15
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,491
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1211065
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Atheleia/pseuds/Atheleia
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>At the age of eighteen, Matthew Williams made a vow to protect his brother, prince of Ismeria, until his final breath. All too soon, that vow is coming to pass. Matthew watches as Alfred grows more corrupt through his new found power and Matthew's loyalties are torn apart. If Alfred falls, the kingdom falls, and so shall Matthew too. Will he keep his promise? AU. Based on Servant of Evil.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

_And on the Fourth of July, two beautiful, blond-haired baby boys were born. They were identical twins, except for a few minor details. The blue eyes of the elder, the purple of the younger, and a lick of hair that never seemed to stay in place for either._  

_The younger was loved and cherished when he was brought into this world. But the only one their father had eyes for was the elder. He was the one who would become king. He was the heir to the throne._

_The younger would be a prince, yes, but never more. There would be chances that the younger might need to replace the elder, but through the years, it never happened. So the younger was pushed to the side, ignored. His mother loved him and so did his brother and his father agreed with them, but when push came to pull, it was clear who was valued more._

_The elder loved his younger brother dearly, though they argued quite a bit. After their mother's passing, the elder was the only one left for the younger. And so the younger grew to love him too, with all his heart. They were each other's best friends throughout their childhood and they depended on each other's company more than they could ever put into words._

_Then came their eighteenth birthday. The day the elder was named Crown Prince for good (not that anyone had doubted it on the way). It was both of their birthdays. But only one mattered._

_To the world, that is._

_Because on that day, the younger took a vow as well. A vow that would bind him for the rest of his life. A vow that would come to define him._

_A vow that would come to pass all too soon._

* * *

Twenty.

Matthew Williams was twenty years old.

Most twenty year olds in this land were working in the fields or apprenticed. Matthew was apprenticed too, in an odd way.

At the age of eighteen, like most eighteen year olds, Matthew had taken up his apprenticeship. Except his was in the form of a vow. Matthew was apprenticed, not to a blacksmith or a man of trade. No, Matthew was apprenticed to the country.

Or more specifically rather, Matthew was apprenticed to his brother. He was sworn to protect his brother, no matter what the cost.

And today, that included his life.

His brother was Alfred Fitzgerald Jones, Crown Prince. They were twins. Alfred had been born mere seconds before Matthew, yet those seconds were what mattered. It was not, after all, the years in life that mattered. No, it was the seconds. The instant before someone slashed your throat. The moment before you were born.

These were what mattered and Matthew Williams knew them well.

“Williams!” a voice whispered. Matthew looked up at his partner. “He's coming!”

Matthew nodded, leaning against the wall in the shadows. His gun was in his hands, already ready to aim and fire. There was a knife tucked in his belt as a backup plan, should the gun fail. He would rather not use it. Matthew would much rather use hand-to-hand combat than the knife. The gun, at least, you had some distance between you and your victim. With the knife, it was impossible to use without getting your hands dirty.

Besides, the goal here wasn't to kill the intruder. At least not immediately.

Footsteps approached their hiding spot. As soon as the man came into view, Matthew dodged behind him swiftly, absolutely silent. He spotted the man's gun immediately. Grabbing the man's wrist, Matthew twisted it behind him. The man cried out sharply in pain, dropping his weapon. With Matthew's other hand, he pointed the gun at the intruder's forehead.

“You're caught,” Matthew said quietly. “The game's over. Now are you going to come with me peacefully or are you going to make this difficult?”

* * *

“Another job well done, Williams.” The commander handed Matthew a beer, which he took with a smile. When Matthew had first joined the Castle Guard, he'd never tasted beer before. In the palace, it was regarded as a commoner's drink. The royal family drank wine. Upon entering the Castle Guard though, Matthew had basically given up his royal title and his reservations. Now beer was one of his favorite beverages.

Entering the Castle Guard was also why he was now Matthew Williams and not Matthew Jones. It wasn't required for a man entering the Guard to change his name, but Matthew had been a special case. The other members of the Guard would have looked at him differently, knowing that he was a prince. When you entered the Guard, regardless of what you'd done, you started at the bottom and worked your way to the top. This ended up being even more important with Matthew's specialized branch of work. So Matthew had changed his name to his mother's maiden name, Williams. It suited him better anyways. The Jones family had always been simple. His father, his mother, his brother.

“Take the night off.” Matthew nodded before heading over to the bar where his other friends were seated.

“Look who it is, man of the hour!” There were hoots and half a dozen people slapped him on the back. Matthew grinned, raising up his beer in toast.

At the castle, Matthew might be a little known entity, but here? Here Matthew was actually recognized. It was one of the greatest things that had happened to him since he'd joined, no, one of the greatest things that had ever happened to him.

Here, Matthew had friends. Almost everyone liked him. He was polite and kind to everyone, but not unwilling to prove that he belonged if the situation presented himself. Certainly, the first few times when the other guys had poked fun at him, calling him feminine, he'd put them in their place. Matthew hadn't been trained in the castle his whole life for nothing after all. Now, they respected him. Matthew had found his place.

Matthew began chugging down his beer. The other guys prodded each other and Matthew definitely saw money change hands as one of his friends timed him. It had become a ritual, after each success, to see how quickly Matthew could gulp beer down.

The last drops of the amber liquid were sliding down Matthew's throat as he slammed the glass down on the table. To his surprise, nobody made a sound. Usually after Matthew was done chugging, someone would call time and there'd be groaning and cheering from different parties. This time though, there was just silence.

There was a light cough and Matthew turned to look at the well-dressed man who stood in front of him, looking thoroughly displeased. Dressed in blue with a white cross across his uniform and a red collar, it was clear that this man was from the castle. Most likely a messenger. The man's eyes were wrinkled in disgust. He was probably thinking of how despicable it was to find himself in such a filthy pub. It was interesting how different the man treated him and his brother, though they looked almost identical. In a way though, Matthew liked that. He could be his own person now.

“Mr. Williams,” the man said in a crisp voice, “the prince seeks an audience with you now.”

Matthew understood immediately. “Gotta go guys. Duty calls.” He winked and gave his buddies a friendly salute before turning and following the messenger out.

He might love the Castle Guard, but for Matthew, the only person that mattered more was his brother.

* * *

“Mattie! I'm so glad to see ya!”

As soon as Matthew entered the castle, he was tackled by his twin brother. Matthew nearly fell over from Alfred's weight and laughed as he righted himself.

Alfred was so different when he was around Matthew. Having been trained since he was a kid, Alfred knew exactly how to behave in public. He knew what airs to put on, what to say, how to charm the ladies, how to deal with the matters of the kingdom. With Matthew though, all of that was stripped away. This was what Matthew loved most about his brother. How, in the end, Alfred was just a guy with a good heart. He really wasn't all that different from the people that Matthew sat next to in the pub.

When they were younger, Alfred's imagination, naivety, and go-lucky attitude had landed him in a lot of trouble. It had been Matthew who knew how to act. Once, Alfred had told him that he should've been born first. But Matthew dismissed this easily. Alfred had always been the more confident one, the one who could motivate people to do what he wanted them to. Matthew had learned this slowly, but he was always a little more hesitant, a little shyer. That had faded in his two years in the Castle Guard, but it was still there. 

“God, I've missed you so much!” Alfred pulled Matthew into one of his notorious bear hugs. Matthew seriously felt suffocated. “You won't believe how dull the castle is without you...we never see each other anymore.” There was an unusual hint of sadness in his twin's voice, but Alfred moved on easily. “Besides, you've got to get me out of here and take me to see all your friends. They sound so great.” Alfred's voice dripped with jealousy. In the castle, Alfred had never been able to make true “friends.” Their father had taught Alfred from a young age that anyone who ever cared about him outside their family (and sometimes inside their family) just wanted to use his position. It was a bit lonely, Matthew admitted. At least Matthew had managed to get out and make friends.

“Also, you still haven't snuck me in any beer yet!” Alfred whacked Matthew's head on the side playfully. “God, were you drinking just before I asked whats-his-face to call you in?” Alfred leaned in closely, sniffing. “God, Mattie! You could've just snagged some for me then!”

Matthew took his chance to actually speak before Alfred started rambling again. “It's great to see you too, Al,” he said warmly. “And I'm sorry, I didn't really get a chance... Besides,” Matthew said in response to his earlier statemet, “I was in the castle earlier for my job, remember?”

“Nah, that's okay,” Alfred said breezily. “Mattie, that's your job.” Alfred shook his head. “That's completely different from seeing you. I haven't seen you in ages! Let's go talk. Where to?”

Matthew grinned. “You know where.”

Alfred matched Matthew's grin with one of his own. Even though they were both grown men, it was shocking how easily and quickly they fell into step with one another just like they had when they were boys. The two dashed out of the stuffy castle halls and into the backyard where...

...Ah. Just like Matthew remembered it.

Years ago, when they were just children, their father had constructed a treehouse for their birthday. It was on one of the tallest trees in the castle, built sturdily and expertly by their father. That had been when they were very young, before Alfred's life had been quite as swept up with studies and Matthew pushed to the side. That was when their father was still consumed by fatherly love, still willing to build with his own hands. The treehouse had always remained their favorite place, where Matthew and Alfred would always escape to. They'd pull up the rope ladder while their governness yelled at the two of them to get down from the tree, Alfred leading the escapade of course. They would hide up there for a whole afternoon sometimes, just laughing and talking and planning food raids together. It had been their little piece of paradise.

The tree still towered above them, the treehouse just barely visible in the light of the moon. The ladder was out of sight, but Alfred tugged a rope and it came down, smacking against the ground. Alfred grabbed onto it and started climbing at an alarming rate. Matthew followed his brother easily.

When they reached the top, Alfred took out a few candles and after lighting them, he put them in a small dish of water. They'd almost burnt down the treehouse one summer...that'd been a terrible day. Father had threatened to have the tree cut down but Matthew had somehow convinced him that they would always be careful with the candles from then on. Alfred had promised to do so as well and they'd never had an accident since.

“So,” Matthew said once Alfred had put his matches away, “what did you want to talk about?”

“Hmm?” Alfred said, distracted. “Oh!” Alfred smiled and leaned against the walls of the treehouse. “Ah...there wasn't anything special. How are you, Mattie?” 

Matthew squinted in the dim light at his brother. No, this didn't make sense. His brother's smile was just a little too wide, his expression just a little too...odd. The nervousness in his eyes... 

“What's wrong?”

Alfred opened his mouth but Matthew waved him off, knowing that his brother was about to protest that nothing was the matter. “Don't give me any of that 'nothing's wrong, I'm totally fine bullshit,' okay? You wouldn't have asked for me at this hour if there wasn't something serious on your mind.” 

Alfred laughed, but it sounded hollow. Matthew knew his brother too well. “Is it not okay for me to ask how my brother's doing?” he countered. “I was just--”

“Bullshit.” Matthew stared directly into his brother's deep blue eyes. Alfred fidgeted under his gaze. “Tell me what's going on.”

Alfred looked away, staring at god-knows-what outside the treehouse. Matthew waited in silence. He was trying to figure out what was going on his brother's mind. Usually it wasn't too difficult. Today though...

“I want to run away.” 

Matthew blinked. Although Alfred had said some pretty crazy stuff and had some pretty ridiculous ideas over the years, he'd never mentioned running away. Alfred never ran away. Alfred always ran towards danger, always. He was reckless, but he was brave. An idiot, but brave. Always running to rescue somebody else, always racing to help someone, even if they would be better off without it. Always cheery, always smiling. Matthew often wondered if Alfred had some sort of pride that kept him at it, some sort of need to always be the hero. He'd never figured it out.

“Why?” Matthew asked. That was the easiest question to ask, the simplest one on Matthew's mind.

Alfred bit his lip. “I just...I can't do it, Mattie,” he whispered, staring out the treehouse. “I don't want to be king. Not now, not ever.”

That didn't make sense at all. Alfred had always relished his position as king. Sure, sometimes he was overwhelmed by duty and responsibility, but Alfred was always meant to be king. Alfred had never known pain, not really. Well, except for when their mother died, but that was years ago now. Alfred had always known he'd be king, had always looked forwards to it. And Matthew had supported that. Alfred would be a good king. Just, persuasive, and effective. Maybe a little naïve, maybe a little quick to jump to conclusions, but he would have an advisor (a good advisor) to keep him in check.

“You've always been able to do it,” Matthew said. He shifted closer to his brother and put a hand on his shoulder. “Hey, look at me.” The melancholy atmosphere that surrounded the treehouse was so out of place and made Matthew a little frightened to be honest. Alfred managed to tear his eyes away from the darkness and look dully at Matthew. “You're gonna be a great king, Alfred.”

“I don't want to,” Alfred said hopelessly. He slid out from Matthew's hand, until he was basically lying on the floor. His head was propped against the wall of the treehouse, his glasses sliding down his nose. Alfred didn't even bother to readjust them. “I just want to be like you, Mattie. You don't know how good you've got it.” The envy in Alfred's voice was so apparent that Matthew was taken aback. “You don't have to live up to any expectations, you can just do what you like. You set your own goals and they're a hundred percent your own. Not the stupid goals of the kingdom. You can drink beer and not worry about how people see you. You're...you're your own person. You're _free_.”

Alfred slumped even further, if that was possible. “I'll never be free,” he whispered.

Matthew was silent. He liked to think of himself as someone who could comfort his brother, yet in this moment, he was at a loss for words. Part of him felt that it was selfish for Alfred to act this way. Alfred had it all. One day, Alfred would be king. Matthew would never be as important as Alfred was. Alfred would always matter more. He would never tell his brother of these thoughts, but he thought them. As terrible as the jealousy felt, as selfish as Matthew knew he must be to think them, he thought them. 

But at the same time, Matthew tried to see things from Alfred's perspective. Maybe Alfred had a lot, but he didn't have what Matthew had. Alfred didn't have friends who trusted and liked him. He only had Matthew. Alfred would never go drink in a tavern, would never be able to saunter out into the sun without a dozen eyes watching. In a way, Matthew did have it better than Alfred. 

Matthew reached over and pulled his brother into a hug. “You can be free,” he murmured. Alfred didn't say a word and Matthew continued. “One day, you and me will run away. Run away from this kingdom and this land and we'll run and run and we'll just keep running.” Matthew didn't know what he was saying. They wouldn't run, they couldn't. Alfred knew that too. At least, Alfred couldn't run. The fate of the kingdom rested on his shoulders. And Matthew was sworn to protect Alfred. Forever. Usually, Matthew was logical, reasonable. But logic wouldn't comfort his brother. Logic was useless here. So Matthew continued rambling. “We'll be thieves, homeless thieves. We'll drink when we want and we'll eat whatever and we'll screw the law and whatever else goes with it.”

Alfred laughed a little. It was only a short laugh, but it encouraged Matthew. “We'll run away,” Matthew repeated. “We'll dance in dark little taverns and sleep in beds of hay and we'll just keep running and never look back. Maybe people will chase us, but screw them, we're gonna keep going.”

Alfred pulled himself up and Matthew was glad to see that his brother was looking more like himself. He gave Matthew a smile and he leaned back against the wall again. “Mmm,” Alfred said, closing his eyes. Matthew wondered what he was thinking about. “That sounds like the life.”

Nothing would come of such a spur of the moment fantasy, but it was nice thinking that something might.

They were silent for a while, just sitting silently. Matthew was comfortable with this silence. It wasn't really silence, after all. There were the crickets chirping, and the distant slamming of a door. There was the sound of air, rushing between the cracks of the small treehouse. There was the wooshing of the leaves in the breeze, the sound of a lone owl, hooting in the night.

It was peaceful. It was very different from the pub, very different from the sort of company Matthew and Alfred usually had up here. But Matthew liked it.

Finally, after a while, Alfred finally spoke. “Do you mean it?”

“Mean what?”

“Running away.” Alfred bit his lip. “I know...I know we couldn't do it. That we shouldn't. I know that I've got to stay here and do what I need to do and you've got to do what you need to do, but...if we didn't...if we could...

“Would you run? With me?” Alfred looked like a child when he said those words, staring desperately at Matthew. Sometimes Matthew forgot that Alfred was his older brother. When Alfred was with Matthew, he was so...normal. So ordinary. Here he was, waiting for justification, waiting for Matthew's answer.

There was nothing Matthew wouldn't do for his brother.

“Of course.”

* * *

Matthew returned to his room late that night. After their brief talk about running away, Matthew and Alfred had chatted for a while. Well, mostly Alfred chatted and Matthew listened. His brother recovered surprisingly quickly from his brief moment of depression. Matthew would never be able to recover that quickly from a thought like that. Had Alfred just tucked it away and pretended to be okay? No, that didn't sound like him... His brother was easy to read, yet at the same time, Matthew wondered if that was just because he was reading too shallowly. 

Matthew pulled his shirt off and sat down heavily on his bed. Alfred...everything seemed to lead back to him. Alfred was the only one who had been there during Matthew's childhood after their mother's death. He was the only one that mattered.

Matthew loved Alfred unconditionally. He always had. He always would. Alfred was just easy to love, for Matthew. He had always been there. Sure, his brother could be a bit blunt and a bit stubborn and a bit of an idiot sometimes. Like the time when he insisted that there be a National Hamburger Day throughout the nation. Matthew was glad that decree hadn't been passed. But despite his flaws, Alfred was kind and caring and he was Matthew's brother. He was family. 

Alfred had been there for him, always. And Matthew would be there for him as well. 

Always.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Gosh, I just love these two brothers. This chapter's a bit short, just to get things set straight.
> 
> This is based loosely off of “Servant of Evil” as well as the Hetalia version which can be found below. It will likely spoil the storyline.
> 
> This AU takes place in an arbitrary kingdom. There will be other kingdoms mentioned. Alfred, of course, is the Prince. Matthew is also a prince, however, since he is not going to take over the kingdom, his position is of little value. Thus, he joined the Castle Guard, giving up his title and his name in the process. The specific branch that Matthew works in will be elaborated on in later chapters.
> 
> I want to say more, but I'll leave the rest to be discovered and slowly unravelled in further chapters.
> 
> Servant of Evil (Hetalia version): http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=skj38WVv7wY
> 
> I do not own Servant of Evil or Hetalia. I really wish I did.


	2. The New King

Warning bells tolling at three in the morning were never a good sign.

Neither was the sound of footsteps outside Matthew's door. The blond had been instantly awakened by the bells. He straightened in his bed before swinging his feet over the side. What had happened? Was it a drill? No, unlikely.

Someone flung open his door and Matthew squinted to get a good look at who it was. The person strode in and grabbed him by the arm. Matthew fought off the urge to fight back, but only because he knew who it was. Carlos jerked him up to his feet.

“Williams, you're needed.” Carlos's tone was so serious that it made Matthew start. Carlos was usually much like his brother, happy and cheerful despite the worst of situations. The man was an odd sight in the castle. With tan skin and long, dark hair, he looked very much like the foreigner he was. Yet, this had not made Carlos an outcast, but rather a man of interest. He was good to most people, though he didn't seem to like Alfred much. He always affectionately referred to Matthew as Mattie and other than his brother, Carlos was probably Matthew's best friend.

Dread crept up in Matthew's mind. What had caused this change?

“What is it?” Matthew asked, already reaching for his gun.

Carlos reached out to stop him. “You won't need that, Matthew,” he said somberly.

A wave of surprise washed over Matthew. He wouldn't need it? But that was his job. Why else would he be summoned. “I won't?” Matthew asked, perplexed. “But then--”

“Matthew. The king is dead.”

Time seemed to slow. Was it even moving at all? Carlos's mouth was moving, saying words, but Matthew couldn't think. Everything seemed to move slowly. Carlos was shaking his arm, asking him if he was okay, but Matthew couldn't hear him. Matthew couldn't hear anything except for the sound of blood rushing through his ears.

The king is dead.

This had to be a joke. Some sick, twisted joke. Or a nightmare. But no, Carlos was really standing in front of Matthew, his mouth still moving. There really were people running outside, their boots clanking heavily against the stone floor. And the candles were really flickering and wait, was the world really spinning?

Matthew stumbled a little and Carlos caught him. “Whoa, Matthew,” Carlos said, holding him up. The fall seemed to jolt Matthew out of his stupor. “Sit down, we can wait, I'm sure they'd understand...”

“No.” Matthew's voice returned. “No, I need to go.” Everything seemed numb and Matthew's mind was blank and dull but that much he had to do. “I have to go...go see the king...go find Alfred...” He swallowed. “Walk with me, will you? Tell me what happened.”

Carlos began to recount the details of the event as they hastened towards the king's chambers. Matthew's bedroom was located in one of the Guard Towers. It was part of the castle, but still a distance away from where his father and brother spent their nights. The walk seemed both too long and too short.

Matthew only caught bits and snippets of what Carlos had to say. There had been an intruder, guards had been knocked out, it had been a surprise. No one had sounded the warning. One of the guards woke up only to find that the king was dead in his bed...the intruder had fled. Gone, and no one even knew what he looked like. Vanished without a trace. They were searching the castle now, the prince had been summoned, his advisor hastening to the scene... The civilians didn't know, but they would soon...

Matthew absorbed all of this information but none of it was really processed. He couldn't make sense of it. All he could think about was his father and his brother...

Matthew had never been close to his father. That had always been Alfred. Alfred had always been the favorite son. But Matthew could not say he had hated the man. Their father had been good and kind to Matthew, and he understood why Alfred was more important. He may have resented him for a while, but that too, had faded in time. His father rarely talked to Matthew after he left, but that was only to be expected. He was the king after all. From time to time, the man would smile at Matthew, take a few minutes to speak with him, maybe send him a little something for Christmas. It wasn't much, but it was something.

Now he was dead. Even though he hadn't been there for Matthew the way Alfred had, even though they'd argued on a number of occasions...he was still his father. He had still cared. He had still been part of Matthew's life. And he was still Matthew's family.

Did Matthew grieve for his father? Yes. Maybe not as much as he should have (and for that, Matthew felt overwhelming guilt). But he grieved. He was grieving.

They came to a stop before they reached the king's chambers. Matthew hadn't even realized they were there. Carlos put a hand on Matthew's shoulder. “You'll be alright,” he murmured in Matthew's ear before he walked off. Matthew took a shaky breath. He wasn't so sure.

With that in mind, he pushed open the doors to his father's bedroom.

It was much like the way Matthew had remembered it. Large, grand. A bed (really, too big for one man) in the very center. Its legs curved and all around was a large red curtain, drawn to the sides. Ornate pillows decorated the bed, with their intricate designs and plush fillings. Beautifully carved desks, made from the best wood that the kingdom of Ismeria had to offer. Gigantic windows that in the daytime, would let in an earth shattering amount of light and bring life to the otherwise stuffy room. Lamps and lanterns and candle holders, sitting next to portraits of the king himself and of his family... Even Matthew was in those portraits, though he was clearly not the centerpiece.

There was a chill in the air though, that had never been there before. A dead stillness that seemed to fill the room. The silence hung heavily around Matthew, only penetrated by the quiet sobs that came from the figure next to the bed.

Maids and guards stood like toys around the room. Their heads were bowed, only turning to see Matthew enter the room before returning to their original positions. One of the women was crying silently, large fat tears rolling down her cheeks that she wiped at hastily. There were mournful looks on the men's faces. Matthew's father may not have been the best father, but he had been a much loved king in his own right. The people were grieving.

But they did not and could not grieve as much as the figure by the bed. Matthew didn't need to see the man to know that it was his brother. The sobs that came from his brother made it sound like Alfred had just had his soul torn and ripped in two. He had only heard Alfred cry this way one other time: when their mother died. Alfred's shoulders shook with each cry. His head was buried in his arms, his face unseen.

Matthew wanted to break down too. He had, when their mother died. The two brothers had held each other and cried for an hour. Maybe it was because he had never been quite so close to his father that Matthew was still standing now, his face dry of tears. He could certainly let himself cry. It wouldn't be hard. But no. Alfred couldn't be strong right now, so Matthew had to.

“Leave,” Matthew said quietly, addressing the servants. They looked at him blankly. Most of them knew that he was the prince's brother, but few of them were used to taking his command. Matthew took in a breath before he repeated the order. “I said leave.” His voice was low but it left no room for doubt. Quickly but quietly, the servants and guards all filed out, closing the door behind him.

Matthew squatted down next to his brother and put an arm around Alfred's shoulders. For the first time, his brother noticed his presence and looked up weakly. His blue eyes were tinged with red, his glasses abandoned on the floor. Alfred's cheeks glistened with tears. There was a broken look in his eyes that made Matthew feel just a tad bit broken too.

Alfred didn't say anything for a moment and Matthew didn't know what to say. They were alone, truly alone, forever alone. Their family was gone. It was just the two of them against the world now. Just the two of them left.

Suddenly, Matthew found himself enveloped in a hug. Alfred hugged him fiercely, choking and coughing a little as he began to cry again. Matthew closed his eyes and allowed the tears to slide down his cheeks as well. Their father was gone. Dead. Never coming back. Just like their mother. Just like how every single human being would go someday.

They didn't say anything. They simply held each other and cried.

* * *

“We are here today to honor the passing of a great man.”

Matthew sat in the front row. Dressed in black, Matthew stared ahead blankly. His brother sat next to him, his blue eyes never leaving the green eyes of the reverend.

“King Theodore Jones was a good man. A just king, a fair ruler who was loved by the people.”

The funeral was a grandeur sight. Hundreds, no, thousands had shown up to grieve the passing of their king. He was a good man, they said. He was a good man.

A good man to all, if a lacking father to Matthew.

“He was kind and to have his death come about in such a manner is a tragedy.”

A tragedy. Matthew looked to his left and saw his brother. There were tears in Alfred's eyes, tears he was desperately trying not to shed, tears he was desperately trying to keep inside. Alfred had been strong after their father's death. He had accepted his role as the new king without flinching from his duty, setting the royal affairs in order. The coronation ceremony would occur tomorrow at noon and Alfred would officially be king.

Matthew too had returned to his duties. The commander had been kind, giving him a much lighter load than normal. Matthew didn't appreciate it much. He would much rather have things normal, to have people stop giving him pitiful glances and stopping to offer condolences. Matthew liked being noticed, but not like that. Not because of that. It was easier to forget to grieve when one was occupied. The time Matthew had off was too much time alone. Too much time to think.

The only thing that time had provided Matthew with was time to visit his brother. Alfred seemed to be operating almost robotically after their father's death. Matthew wanted to ask Alfred if he was alright, but he knew the answer already. Alfred was not okay. The whole country grieved for their king. Alfred was the only one who grieved for his father.

“King Theodore's legacy will live on,” the reverend said. “His two sons are here with us today. His eldest will rule this land and will hopefully follow in his father's footsteps in the future.” The reverend dipped his head at Alfred and the crowd craned their necks to catch a glimpse of the prince. “We were all honored to be ruled by a man like King Theodore, and we will be honored to be led by a young man like his son.”

The crowd clapped and the reverend looked at Alfred. “I believe that Prince Alfred would like to say a few words in honor of his father's passing.”

It took Alfred a moment to stand and for a second, Matthew feared he wouldn't. But Alfred stood up anyways and moved slowly towards where the reverend had been standing. Turning to face the crowd, Alfred looked upwards.

Alfred was dressed in his finest that day, his crown resting on his head. Matthew had a crown like that as well, though it was hidden under lock and key after he had given up his title. Alfred had never looked more regal or formal, never more just and royal.

He had never looked sadder either.

“Today, we stand here to talk about our king.” Alfred's voice was loud and clear. Already, Matthew could see his brother changing from a young man to a prince. Alfred knew how to talk to a crowd. He had always known. He had been trained his entire life.

“Today,” Alfred said, his gaze sweeping over the people, “we stand here to talk about our kingdom.” There was a murmur of agreement in the crowd.

“But there is more than that,” Alfred added. His voice was different now, more vulnerable. “We stand here to talk about my father.”

Alfred stood up straighter. He hesitated for a brief moment, his eyes flitting towards Matthew, who nodded. Alfred refocused on the crowd. “Only one other man here today can understand the grief I am going through, and that man is my brother. My father was your king, but he was more than that to me. He was my family. He was a dependable man, a man I could count on. A man who I trusted. A man who I loved, as a son should love his father.”

Matthew felt guilty. He had never loved his father the way Alfred had. Their connection had been so much shallower. Yet here Alfred was, standing and speaking of their father with such conviction in his voice that anyone in the world would have believed him and would have known that he was a truly devout son.

“I was shocked, like all of you, when he died.” Here, Alfred's voice trembled just slightly. “I was angry too. Not only had the man who took his life taken away our king, he had taken away my father. A part of my family.” Alfred was shaking a little and Matthew wanted nothing more than to stand up and steady him. “This will not go unpunished. I will see to it that my father did not die in vain.”

Alfred's eyes glinted in the sun, their steely blueness flashing through. “There will come a day when we all die, the king and peasant alike. Let us not die without doing everything within our power to live a good life.

“To my father, the king.”

* * *

The ceremony ended and as soon as it did, Alfred stood up. Matthew followed him as he approached the reverend, shaking the man's hand.

“Thank you for a good service, Reverend Carriedo,” Alfred said quietly.

The reverend blinked, his olive green eyes softening. “Call me Antonio,” he said, giving a small smile. “And thank you, for an inspiring speech.”

“Antonio it is,” Alfred said warmly. “I will not detain you for much longer, I am certain you have a wife awaiting your return.”

“Ah, yes.” There was a certain sparkle in Antonio's eyes. “I do have a wife of sorts waiting, though I doubt he would like to be addressed as such.” He nodded at Matthew before his gaze shifted back to Alfred. “I believe I will see you tomorrow?”

“Yes,” Alfred responded. “The coronation.”

Antonio smiled, picking up his Bible. “You will make a good King, Alfred,” he observed. “I hope you are ready.”

“I have always been ready.” The conviction in Alfred's voice was very different from the doubt that Matthew had heard a month ago in the treehouse. But times had changed. His brother had changed.

Antonio nodded. “I wish you good luck.” With that, the man walked off, disappearing into the crowd.

Condolences were exchanged, people ignoring Matthew and talking to Alfred. About his speech, about his outfit, about his father...dozens and dozens of them. It was two hours before the pair of brothers returned to the castle, two hours before Matthew could finally ease up and take a breath.

Matthew's gaze was concentrated on his brother, who had been silent on their walk back. His usually cheerful eyes were still clouded with grief.

“Alfred,” Matthew began as they returned to Alfred's room, “are you—”

“I'm fine, Matthew.” Alfred's voice was dull. He gave Matthew a forced smile. “I just need some time.” He slipped into his room without saying another word, leaving Matthew alone in the halls.

Matthew stood there for a moment before he leaned against the wall next to his brother's chambers. He looked upwards and suddenly, he felt tired. So...very, very tired.

He missed their mother, the way she would hug and comfort Matthew and kiss the top of his head when he was sad.

Matthew wanted someone now to comfort him as well. Was that selfish? His brother had felt so much more distant after yesterday. Numb. Matthew knew that Alfred had to have time to recover, time to grieve. Time to accept the new role that he was about to take. Matthew knew it was hard on Alfred. It had to be. The whole country needed Alfred to rise to the occasion. But...Matthew needed Alfred too. Because they were brothers, weren't they?

Matthew slid to the floor and rested his head on his knees. He shouldn't be so needy, he told himself. He shouldn't be so weak. He was supposed to protect Alfred...it wasn't the other way around.

He sat there for a long time.

* * *

“Yesterday was a day of grieving.”

Yes, it was.

“Today though, is a day of celebration.”

False.

Everything about that was false.

The false cheer in Antonio's voice. The false smile on Alfred's face. The false joy that was supposedly filling the room.

Grief didn't just fade. It wasn't something you could turn on and off.

Their father, the king, was _dead_.

Matthew's fists were clenched as he watched the coronation proceed. He desperately wished that it would just be over, that this would all be over, this horrendous nightmare. He had never expected his father to...to die. Matthew knew—had always known—that his brother would someday be king. But he had always thought of Alfred as Prince. That was what Alfred had always been.

And then, out of the sudden, he was now...

Matthew watched numbly as Alfred stood up and walked to the front, kneeling before Antonio. As his brother stared at the ground, Matthew took in the uncharacteristically serious look on his face.

“Today, Prince Alfred Fitzgerald Jones, I crown you as King.”

Antonio lifted the crown from its satin pillow, the crown that until then, Matthew had only seen his father wear. Just before it settled into Alfred's golden hair, he saw his brother cast a desperate glance at him. Help me. Save me, it seemed to scream.

Matthew wanted to. He wanted to so badly.

But he couldn't. All his life, Matthew had been trained to protect the prince, to protect his brother. But the one time that Alfred really needed him, the one time that Alfred needed saving...Matthew was utterly helpless.

“Rise, Alfred, king of Ismeria.”

As Alfred rose from where he knelt, the entire assembly stood up and began to applaud. Gone was the look of desperation, replaced by a confidence that Matthew knew was simply a cover. He watched as the newly crowned king smiled and as the crowd began to mingle, immediately slipped into the role he had been prepared for. People, stumbling up to greet the new king, to seek his favor. Alfred took this without a glance.

Matthew admired his brother from a distance. If he had been anyone else, he would've thought that Alfred was simply embracing his new role in the kingdom. He would've believed in Alfred's act. But Matthew would not and could not believe it now. So it was with urgency that he pushed through the crowd and grabbed onto Alfred's sleeve.

His brother turned around. Bleu eyes met violet with a questioning look in them. “Matthew, what's the problem?” Alfred asked.

He looked genuinely surprised.

Idiot.

“Are you sure that you...Alfred, no one would blame you if you...” Matthew struggled to put his thoughts into words. He had never really been the talker and now, with dozens of people watching the two of them, it only made things more difficult.

“Blame me if I what?” Alfred cocked his head a little to the side as if he was actually wondering what Matthew was trying to say.

_Liar._ Yes, Alfred could be pretty terrible at reading the atmosphere, but this was Matthew.

“If you needed to leave.”

Alfred smiled. “I'm fine, Matthew.” The words were too soft, too calm for his brother. It was like something had changed, like he'd flipped a switch. Gone was the rambunctious, reckless, foolish older brother that Matthew had always known. It was replaced by a king.

And Matthew didn't like it.

Yet there was a desperation in Alfred's gaze that remained when he looked at Matthew. It took Matthew a moment, but suddenly, he could see how Alfred was barely holding himself together. How the grief hadn't left his brother's eyes yet, perhaps would never leave his eyes. And he could almost hear Alfred begging him to not tell, to not let this be known. He had to be strong, for the kingdom. For himself.

Matthew straightened. “I understand,” he nodded, perhaps a little stiffly. “Tell me if you need anything.”

Alfred smiled at his brother before he started chatting with someone else.

Matthew swallowed and walked away. He could not help Alfred here. It was useless to try.

* * *

“Williams? I have a message for you.”

Matthew glanced up in surprise. The day had dragged on for far too long. Shortly after their conversation, Matthew lost sight of his brother. He hadn't seen him since, though he had overheard from one of this friends that the pr—no, king—had made it back to his chambers without any dilemma. As for Matthew, he had ordered a pint before retreating to his own room. It had been quiet and tiring and Matthew longed for sleep.

He walked over to the messenger, not even fully registering his appearance before the man closed the door shut behind him.

Matthew squinted in the dim light, trying to decipher the scrawls on the slip of paper. It took him three tries to read it and when he had, it took him a moment to register what the message was saying.

Matthew sat down on his bed heavily, a lump in his throat. Already, his resolve was hardening. He'd made a vow. He'd made a promise. One that Matthew would never go back on.

_Tell me if you need anything._

One word. That was all. Matthew didn't even need to know who it was from.

_Revenge._

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Carlos = Cuba


End file.
